


Drabble Fic

by tentativejane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:46:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4936486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentativejane/pseuds/tentativejane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is lonely and all Stiles wants is to meet him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabble Fic

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I actually wrote a _long_ time ago and found it just sitting in my drive, so I decided to upload it.  
>  Was originally meant to be a 100 word daily prompt fic but decided to set it as a one-shot instead.
> 
> It's never been beta'd or preread so all mistakes are on past me.

__  
Everything had been a lie.  
All the books filled with pretty words that he read throughout his entire life told him there was more out there. They gave him hope and dreams of friends that not only understood him, but were like him.  
Felt the loneliness that he felt as he slowly matured from child to adolescent.  
Dreams of places where things would always be new and exciting.  
Then, with his head and heart full of possibilities he was shoved into the world. Expected to know how things worked and turned without being taught.  
Scorned and mocked when he stumbled. 

__  
Time and time again he tried. Vowing each time he stood back up that he could do this. He could take care of himself.  
He knew how to be alone, and although he longed for more, he was comfortable in his bubble.  
All he needed were his books. They fueled his daydreams of vampires, faeries, werewolves, and beings that were half angel. Even kelpies were victims to his over romanticized mind.  
His twenty-first birthday came and went with no one to celebrate with except the sales woman who rang up his self-purchased presents.  
Five new books filled with worlds and people he’d never encountered before.

__  
Without even realizing, time dragged and blurred and sped. Each day seeming to make every hour last as long as it could, yet with every passing glance at the calendar informing him that weeks had passed.  
Each one lost to comfortable routine.  
His twenty-third birthday was filled with not just books but with new clothes.  
It didn’t take long for him to shed his mature teenage appearance and form for that of a young adult.  
As cruel and tedious as he was realizing time was, it gifted him with a college diploma and eventually his coveted job.  
An editor. 

__  
Reading and correcting and flourishing the tales of others didn’t stop his dreams of mythical creatures and fictional lovers that would understand what he was thinking with only one glance upon his storm water eyes.  
Instead, it encouraged him to write his own.  
Cheap notebooks began to pile up as he filled their blank lines with his own creatures and plots.  
His foes were devious and alluring and his heroes were strong and protective of those they loved.  
His villains never lived to the last page of the tale.  
Always being revealed and defeated.  
After all, happy endings gave hope. 

__  
He could feel it slipping.  
During his youth time tortured and strangled him.  
His pleads for it to hurry along and to bring with it the events and people he dreamed of went unheard.  
But now he could feel it falling through his fingers like gritty sand.  
He was thirty.  
The seed of acceptance that some events weren’t meant to occur to some people had already taken root among his mind.  
That some emotions were never meant to be felt and shared.  
He accepted his solitary fate.  
But that didn’t stop him from dreaming of kelpies and black haired vampires. 

__  
Another year came and passed with the same apartment, same job, and same comfortable routine.  
Only the new notebooks signaled how much time had passed without his acknowledgement.  
But then it happened.  
In all his sameness and all his dreams he never noticed him. Never saw that his face, the one that always bore his silent torment of resignation, was beautiful to another.  
He never saw him waiting for a glimpse of him. Never saw him silently mouth words of encouragement to himself.  
“Today. Today. It’ll be today,” he’d tell himself - almost like a chant.  
Four years of the same “today.”

__  
Unlike the scruffy faced man he watched so much, he who had never read the pretty lies of a vivid imagination, he who never cradled the comfort of mythical people and lovers, saw more than he who used to look so hard.  
He knew that he needed to save the beautiful stranger in order to save himself.  
For years he witnessed him close himself off more and more and knew if he didn’t act soon he would never get the chance to reach him.  
He knew his “today” had to happen now or he would never know his favorite stranger. 

__  
His alarm woke him from dreaming.  
A dream filled with an intoxicating, bittersweet love between a centuries old ghost and a human who wasn’t yet ready to die.  
Getting up, he prepared himself for another day of routine. His safe and comfortable life.  
But when he opened his door his routine was gone.  
He was left standing bereft and silently grasping for his normalcy in front of a stranger.  
A stranger made of pale cream skin, a prominent nose, warm amber eyes, and messy brown hair.  
He was no silver haired faery but he was gorgeous.  
And he was speaking.

__  
“This is for you.”  
Without his bidding, his mind began to write this stranger’s story.  
His mother was a mermaid who went against her own siren song and fell in love with a mortal man. However, their son wasn’t welcome among the sea.  
Now he had to live the life of a human as he battled not to grieve over never once seeing his mother’s face….  
Realizing he’d been staring, he glanced down to see the first gift in years that was given to him by another.  
He was almost afraid. After all what object could this stranger give him? 

__  
It was tiny  
A tiny teal colored pot in the shape of a box.  
Instead of dozens of tiny flowers, or even extravagant vines and buds meant to impress, it held one lone flower. Its bloom was big but its soft pink color humbled it.  
The petals looked soft and smooth. Each one different in some way - from the tiny petals with sharp curves that made the center to the bigger petals with their long graceful arcs that formed the last layer.  
It was there.  
There on a petal on the last layer was a mustard brown spot of decay. 

__  
He took a chance.  
He knew it might be considered an odd gift for a man but he felt compelled - almost as if some outer force entered his being and led him to that flower shop and made him pick out that potted flower instead of the more coveted and lavish bouquets.  
Even now, as he stood there in front of the broken man he didn’t regret his purchase.  
What’s more, as he stood there, with his hands sweaty and his long fingers desperately clutching the tiny pot, he didn’t regret knocking on his door before he left for work.


End file.
